Forever Wild
by FlyteHarmony
Summary: In one magical night, Nick has a romantic encounter with a man who shapes his summer and reveals the secrets hidden within. *This is a Natsby modern day au


***I do not own the great Gatsby. That honor belongs to the great F Scott Fitzgerald. Nor do I own Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Ray. I hope you enjoy!**

I stared at the crescent moon over head- hung as though suspended by a string. A few dark clouds, that blended into the night, silently floated by the moon, pushed by an unseen wind that cared not to present itself to us that suffered in the humid summer night. It was not of my own will that I was about the city. A friend of mine-a sporty woman named Jordan Baker- had dragged me to the newest nightclub Eckleburg's, despite my protests contrary to this. She was a woman of Amazonian quality; she towered above me at six feet two.

With eyes half-lidded to portray a bored expression on her gorgeous face, many a man either avoided her out of fear or was drawn to her like a moth to flame. She stood beside me, her back flat and her head held high with that bored expression that was her constant companion. She stared at her watch impatiently and tapped her foot in a maddening fashion that usually warned others of her displeasure. I was helpless for, despite her title as my friend, we did not know each other well.

I came from the Midwest to become a editor, too ashamed of my own writing abilities to be an author. My family had financed my excursion reluctantly- my father had only promised to provide money for me for a year. However, I had planned to be financially independent before that time, eager to cut my ties with the soul draining west. Now that I look over the start of my summer in the concrete jungle of New York, I begin to wince at my naivety and the ecstatic youthful hope that came with every new venture.

I had once been a newly discharged soldier, recovering from a bad bullet wound. I had laid about my parent's house, visions of my fallen friends playing over and over again like a horror film cruelly on repeat. My family watched for months as I went through a uncontrollable madness then a silent calm. It was then that I had made the decision to go east.

A friend of mine had offered to share his apartment with me, but was called to Washington at the last moment. The apartment was a modest, brown bricked structure nestled between Eckleburg's and a cafe. It was an eyesore, but it was the only home I had in the unfamiliar city. A distant cousin of mine, Daisy, called upon me the moment she had heard that I stepped foot in the bustling city.

She introduced me to her husband, Tom Buchanan who I had know previously in college. Daisy was a petit woman with a head of blonde hair that used to be down to her back when we were children, but now was cut short to frame her face. Tom was the darkness to her light-a hulking man who was just as obsessed with football as he was in our college days. His ebony hair that had once been tussled in our younger days was now parted in a neat fashion.

"He hates that word," Daisy had told me, her voice as soft and caressing as the wind itself. "Hulking."

During the visit, I noticed the once football star's restless nature. It was even more prominent when Daisy announced, in her own flippant way, that they had recently moved from Chicago. Jordan did not force her way into the conversation until much later, complaining of boredom. She too was restless in a way that she constantly searched for good times while Tom was content to just leave things as they were, despite his conflicted heart. She took a shine to me immediately and afterwards showed me her apartment that was only a few blocks away from mine.

From then, she dragged me from this place to that place, introducing me to her high class friends like a trophy on one of her shelves. I was never one to say no to a person and indulged her, ignoring their looks of amusement. For the longest I had wondered what went on within Eckleburg's. Settling down with my books, I would hear the thumping rhythm settle over the night as a sound of protest, forcing itself into the ears of passers by and those unfortunate enough to live close to it. Even to this day, I cannot grasp that which took hold of those who entered its doors although that feeling had also run through me.

Above the word was a colossal pair of eyes that stared at the city behind a pair of glasses. Those blue eyes told of an emotion that I could not and would not understand. Many said it was the club's best feature, I disagreed. Those eyes struck a fear in me that I can now lend to a foretelling prophesy of tragedy. Occasionally, I would see a man walk out to the alleyway between my apartment and the club to smoke.

I would watch wordlessly, soaking in his every movement. I figured myself half in love with him although I never saw his face and just head of dirty blond hair and the tip of his nose. To me, the man had represented that which was unknown and beyond my fingertips. He would then go back inside and I would be left with a hollowness that I somehow knew meant I was to follow him.

"About damn time!" Jordan claimed as the bouncer finally let us in. I covered my ears against the onslaught of the loud pop that blasted from the speakers.

"Why are you in such a rush," I asked with thinly veiled irritation.

"Oh, didn't I tell you Nick," she turned heel to face me, her eyebrow perfectly arched. "Daisy and Tom said that they would meet us here."

I reared back at this, now fully irritated. If she had told of this earlier I would have been more inclined to join her instead of being dragged against my will.

"Where are they now?" I inquired and she glanced at her iPhone.

"Here, I'll go find them and you wait by the bar. After all this I could use a drink."

Then, she was gone, disappeared into the crowd as of she had not been in the spot in the first place. Withholding my sigh and seeing as I had no choice, I waddled through the throngs of people to the bar and sat down at a lone bar stool. The bar was surprisingly empty with only a few patrons scattered about nursing their drink of choice. Too lost in my thoughts, I felt a small tap on my shoulder and looked up into the bluest eyes I had ever seen, even bluer the sign outside. Then I noticed the blond hair and nose and knew it was my mystery man.

"Would you like a drink my good man?"

His voice held inside it so much flirtatious amusement that my heart lurched. I was putty in his hands to be molded as he saw fit. For a few moments panic I wondered if he knew of my unhealthy obsession with watching him.

"Give me a whiskey," I said, asking for the first drink that popped into my head.

"Alright my good man."

That seemed to be his catchphrase, a nickname that he gave to everyone he met. For that moment in time I had imagined it was only for me. I watched as he prepared my drink, my eyes going from his handsome profile to his body that was muscular but not overly so as was Tom's. My eyes caught a glint of metal and almost gasped when I spotted the dog tags, barley hidden within his uniform. When he came with my drink I asked innocently," Where were you deported?"

"Huh?"

I pointed to his dog tags and his face went blank. I was instantly sorry I had asked.

"If you don't want to talk about it it's fi-"

"Afghanistan." he said simply, beginning to clean the glasses.

I wanted to find something else to talk about but there was no other topic I knew would interest him. The man was an enigma to me.

"I was in Iraq. I was discharged a year ago."

He looked at me with renewed interest and I could not help the smile that grew on my face. I had the feeling that he was embarrassed about his service. I vowed never to bring it up again, a vow I soon broke in the months to come.

"Look my good man," there he went again with that nickname. "My shift ends in a minute. How about a dance?"

His blue eyes caught mine and all I could say was yes. He took took off his uniform, an I quickly finished my drink, then led me into the crowd just as another mainstream pop song arrived. It was one of those crowd favorite and the floor was packed. He and I were forced tightly together and I tried to hide the rising blush that came with having his body close to mine.

His hands went to my hips and I moved against him, lost in the ecstasy of the moment. I could have sworn his eyes flashed with untold desire. Even after the song was over, I stood there in his arms, my body craving more of his.

"Nick!"

My head whipped around to the sound of Jordan's voice. She waved at me and there was a Daisy and an indifferent Tom.

"You'd best go to them, Nick."

There it was, my name on his

Lips sounding like a prayer.

"I-"

But, when I turned he was gone.

"Do you know who that was?" Jordan whispered to me as I walked over. I shook my head, too tipsy to do anything else.

"That was Jay Gatsby!"

"Gatsby," Daisy's mind was in a far off place. "What Gatsby?" She looked as if she had seen a ghost.


End file.
